


Roman Holiday

by Aeremaee



Series: Star Wars Stories [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Kid Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeremaee/pseuds/Aeremaee
Summary: “Welcome to your new home, Mrs Naberrie,” Anakin says with a wide sweep of his arm, “want me to carry you over the threshold?”“Step on a lego, Mr Naberrie,” Padmé says finely, and walks inside.





	Roman Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/gifts).



> Written for Redrikki as a Jedifest Summer Fling Exchange pinch-hit for the prompt 'Fic about Anakin Skywalker/Padme Amidala 'undercover' as a married couple'. I sincerely hope this was somewhat what you were hoping for!

Obi-Wan can see it in her eyes, she’s already planning to get out from this and get her own way.

“Miss Amidala,” he says, and it’s all he can do to not sound like he’s whining, or worse, begging.

She opens her mouth and he’s about to close his eyes in resignation when the DA puts his hand on her shoulder and she closes it again.

“Do you really think this is necessary? Padmé tells me they’re empty threats.”

“I’m sure she did, DA Organa,” he sighs, “because she does not take this seriously and she’s determined to do this her own way.”

Organa looks at Amidala, assessing, and Obi-Wan sees the exasperation creep into his face when he realises that the Marshal has the right of it.

“Do whatever you feel is necessary,” he sighs. Amidala immediately jumps in her seat, ready to go to war, but he points a finger in her face and she just glares. “I don’t even care about the investigation right now,” he says, “all I care about is that you live to make the trial and a good many years beyond that! And if the Marshals believe the best and maybe only way to make that happen is for you to go into WITSEC, so be it.”

“I can’t believe this,” she fumes, “you want me to just cut and run when my investigation is at a crucial stage! I need to…”

“Your colleagues and I can handle it,” Organa interrupts. “Your job now is to stay alive!”

“I realise we’re asking a lot,” Obi-Wan says, “but if they manage to take you out, the whole case is lost. You’re the star witness now, not just the ADA on the case.”

She fumes a bit more, looking from her boss to him and back, and then finally relents, though there’s still something in her eye he’d rather not see there.

“Fine,” she bites. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, ADA Amidala,” Obi-Wan says. He even manages not to sigh with relief. “We’ve put our very best man on the job. He’ll go under with you and protect you every step of the way.”

“Oh, good,” she deadpans, “and a bodyguard, too.”

That’s the moment Anakin decides is a great moment to barge into the room, and Obi-Wan sees Amidala put two and two together and gear up for another round of this tug of war because anyone but Skywalker, and feels like he should get a medal for not thunking his head into the table repeatedly.

 

“Welcome to your new home, Mrs Naberrie,” Anakin says with a wide sweep of his arm, “want me to carry you over the threshold?”

“Step on a lego, Mr Naberrie,” Padmé says finely, and walks inside.

“Isn’t it time to put the past behind us now that we’re married?” he asks, right on her heels to take in the layout of the house. “I only almost got your witness killed, that time. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me? What will the neighbours think?”

“This isn’t some cheesy romcom where the pretend husband and wife have no choice but to kiss passionately or be discovered for frauds,” she replies with a sigh. “We’re hardly going to be leaving the house.”

The kitchen is fully stocked and the bookshelves in the living room are filled with a very eclectic collection of books, films and series. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make the house look lived in; some of the furniture has little nicks and dings and the decorations only sort of match in a very organic way. If the circumstances were different, she’d probably like to live here while on holiday or some such. Now it just very much looks like ‘not home’. She wishes Sabé was allowed to send her daily update pictures of her cat.

Padmé is determined to get as much work done and to avoid as much of Anakin as she can, and she even tries not to bite his head off whenever he interrupts her, but he’s not making it easy. He seems determined to distract her and make her feel like they actually are on holiday. He cooks. Somehow he’s discovered her weakness for costume drama.

It’s a problem.

His latest bit of bribery is a chocolate tart that they’re having out on the sunlit patio, like a scene from a novel. She doesn’t tell him it’s good, but she eats two slices and he smiles like he knows what she means.

A bright green ball comes sailing over the hedge and bangs into the French window to Padmé’s right. She shrieks and sends her fork flying, though she manages to save her plate. Anakin is up on his feet, chair fallen back, hand on the grip of the gun concealed at the small of his back.

“My ball!” a tiny voice wails.

Anakin snatches his hand away and puts both of them on the patio table, breathes in and out very deliberately, while Padmé waits for her heart to slow down and shakily puts her plate down.

There’s a rustling in the hedge and they both stare, off kilter.

“Boba, no, Boba, don’t…” they hear from the neighbouring garden, and then a tiny head pops from underneath the bushes, and a toddler crawls into their yard. He clambers to his feet and starts running towards them.

“Can I have my ball back, please?” he asks, panting and bouncing. “I’m sorry it got tossed over the hedge.”

For a few heartbeats, Padmé is frozen, but then her brain kicks back in and she gets up to grab the ball.

“Of course you can! Don’t worry about it. Here you go.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he chirps, and his curls bob angelically.

“That’s quite an arm you have there, kid, tossing that ball all the way over,” Anakin says, on one knee so he doesn’t tower over them quite so much. “Is green your favourite colour?”

The child nods very earnestly and Padmé catches herself looking at Anakin in delight. She can’t really read the look he gives her in return, but it makes her feel oddly warm.

A man comes jogging up the driveway, annoyance and worry warring on his face.

“Boba, where did you go off to? Oh, I’m so sorry, he just went under the hedge before I could grab him.”

He scoops the boy up and squeezes him for just a second before shifting his weight onto one arm and extending a hand to them. Anakin shakes it and tucks Padmé into his side at the same time, and she wraps her arms around him and lets him hide her, because alarm bells are peeling in her head and it’s all she can do not to show it.

“No problem at all,” she says, “such a cute way to meet our neighbours!”

They make introductions and talk a bit about why they supposedly moved here and the neighbourhood and about Boba, who’s a great distraction when conversation gets a little awkward, like when they ask about his mum and it turns out Mrs Morrison died of cancer a few years ago.

When Mr Morrison invites them over for dinner to welcome them to the neighbourhood, Padmé immediately accepts. Anakin, to his credit, does not react and backs her up, but he wraps up the conversation first chance he gets after that.

Laughing and waving father and son walk down their driveway while Anakin almost drags her inside and into the kitchen, where he pushes her up against the counter and moves his hands from her waist to her shoulders to shake her a little.

“What were you thinking? First you’re all about not leaving the house and now you want to play neighbours?”

“I thought this neighbourhood was supposed to have been vetted and we were perfectly safe here,” she says, letting some salt into her voice.

“It is,” he sighs, “but I still would have preferred…”

“Well, someone sure messed up,” she says triumphantly, “because ‘Mr Morrison’ is Jango Fett.”

The look on his face is worth this entire ordeal.

“You think our neighbour is an internationally wanted assassin,” he says. It’s not even a question. “Just living here, like that, with the best fake ID ever, and you just recognised him.”

“He’s in a lot of talks and databases,” she says.

“Obviously,” he says. “And during dinner you want to break into his study and expose and arrest him.”

“Exactly,” she says.

“That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard and we are not doing it.”

 

“You have a lovely home, Mr Morrison.”

“Scott, please!”

“Scott,” she agrees warmly, and hands over her bottle of wine. Anakin looks like he might chip a tooth clenching them. Boba immediately latches onto him and starts showing him all his toys.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks, but ‘Scott’ directs her to the sitting room and insists she leave everything to him. With Anakin occupied and their host away to the kitchen, she makes a quick sweep of the room but finds no hidden compartments in the sofa’s or behind the bookcases, nor any saves behind the paintings or photographs. Anakin gives her a Look when he and Boba come sit with her.

The evening is actually very lovely. Boba is a delightful child and Scott is a great host. If every look at his face didn’t convince her further, Padmé might start to feel a little guilty. Anakin plays the roll of doting husband very well, all small touches and fake stories and subtle check-ins. It makes her feel flustered, but she tells herself it’s the wine.

When Scott announces he has to put Boba to bed but they’re welcome to stay so they can have a nightcap after, Padmé sees her chance. They wave the boy off and she barely waits until they’re all the way up the stairs to jump out of her seat and hurry into the kitchen. The house is a mirror to their own, so she knows there’s a room on the ground floor that he may be using as his office. In the back of her head she’s already wondering if she could search the upper floors if she’s ever asked to babysit Boba.

“Padmé,” Anakin hisses behind her, “get back here! This has already gone too far!”

The kitchen yields nothing but the door to the pantry-slash-basement _is_ locked.

“With how steep those stairs are, I’d lock that door too if we had a kid,” Anakin grumbles. Her brain stutters over his choice of words.

She whirls down the hall to see if there’s a study. Instead she finds the room has been set up to be a washroom and second bathroom, but two of the walls _are_ lined with shelves, so maybe…

“Padmé, for the love of… If you’re _this_ convinced I’ll tell Obi-Wan and he and Organa can have fun digging up anything and everything there is to find about this guy, alright? But now please come out of there!”

“You promise?” she demands. He sighs and rolls his eyes and waves his hands until she comes out and silently closes the door again.

He’s herding her back to the sitting room when the top stair creaks.

Anakin crowds her into the wall and then his hands are in her hair and his mouth is on her and for a hysterical moment she thinks this is _exactly_ like a romcom where the pretend couple have to make out passionately to avoid being found out. The next he’s got his tongue in her mouth to swallow her instinctive giggle and then she’s kissing him back, giving as good as she gets.

Scott clears his throat behind them and she instantly blushes scarlet because for a split second she forgot he was ever there, and Anakin’s making some joke and Scott is laughing about remembering what it was like to be a newlywed and the next thing she’s back on the sofa with a glass of something in her hand that sets her throat on fire when she knocks it back, which was apparently the best thing she could have done to salvage the situation.

An hour later they’re back home and she still doesn’t know if he’s Fett or not. Everything after that kiss is kind of a blur. Anakin won’t look at her and she might have drunk more than she thought with how lightheaded she feels.

“We should probably go to bed,” he says awkwardly.

“Probably,” she replies. He doesn’t move, though, so she flutters her hand in a sort of wave and takes a few steps back before turning and heading for the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, “it was a stupid move but I panicked and it seemed like a great idea at the time and I know it probably didn’t help your opinion of me, but I really only did it to protect you, and I…”

He peters out when she turns back and looks at him. She’s too tired and too shaken up by the whole affair to keep her guard up or her expression in check, and for a moment everything she’s thinking and feeling must be right up there on her face to read.

He’s across the room in five steps to wrap her in strong arms and kiss her again, much gentler than before. Warm. Caring. Loving. He kisses her, and again, and once more, sweet and short.

“We should probably talk about this in the morning,” he says with the smile she’s grown so fond of over the last few weeks on his lips.

“Probably,” she replies, but doesn’t let go of his hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](%E2%80%9Daeremaee.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


End file.
